Outside is gargling with rain;
A displeasing pitter-patter of cloudburst spittle,
You sunlight absent, serotonin vampire, dooming me into this inferior place while water flows into canals frying golden leaves that pass and pass.

I glare and I glare at the whiteness of this page; my to-be creation and what will I create?
Sunburned arc eyes, shuttered, flickered flashes
I recalled, ‘I am a creature of the pen’,
she said: ‘My pen is the best of me’. We share a name you know?

It was 1988, a blizzard hastened its squally flakes
during my twenty-hour wait.
They groaned, they rumbled against the frail hospice window; mother had always said.
A grating cry creaked that February night;
the blizzard was worried stiff.
shall I write about the night I came to be?

So there I am a sprout germinating in the dark,
Birth towards decay.
A natural occurrence, if you know?
I expected so much more.
there is so much more to say.

But I shut my eyes and I am rushing and I am dashing
towards the end of the horizon.
I drop myself into the pool of dooming sunsets,
Be swallowed into darkness; sweet comfort of the unseen.
And after I howl my yowl,

I let it
hiss the birth
of an unfamiliar
miracle

She spent years in the barren corridors of the ravine,
Shunned the hands that cared
And her soundless wails; muted--.
Muted by the critters she created.
Those malicious fidgety and stupid grins!

When they slung from their stony sleep.
Night after night they would ogle down to her--
Night after night they would plummet into her--
Imbibing her vital fluids
This was her resolve--

Their sharp claws dug in deep,
A body like the surface of the moon.
Hairy claws that snapped sinews
Sinews of fragile bridges arching over flaming wounds;
Lava crack motifs glowing underneath--.

Who are they to bully her?
She could hear their curly voices commanding her:
‘’Waltz you foolish nymph. Waltz!’’
They would chuckle and they would whisper to each other:
‘’Oh, look at how it jigs’’.

She respited--
A demented laugh that's all it took--.
She uncurled herself out of that psychotic knot
Depleting all the verve, which she was saving to survive.
And this was her resolve.

Those unendurable oppressors!
Now, she; slung--, primitive in her mannerisms
She choked them one by one until they screamed.
An arrangement of low-frequency pitches swelled that bottomless pit;
Notes of listless crippled breathing and tones of decrepit wheezing--

She strangled the entire void;
Anonymous to death.
And it caused an orifice.
Behind her, an iridescent light slit through the cracks
As if it were slashed with a fillet knife; the metal moaned.

Hailstones began to plunge from the splitting crevice up above
And more descended;
Like some plaster that had crumbled from the ceiling,
Trampling those callous critters,
And beams of light shot out like spears.

Head whipped back
She catapulted and that was that.
The long wait for the intrinsic acme of permutation,
Wasn’t even celebrated

In a low area between hills
There lies a valley with a river flushing through it.
The drapes of hanging algae on dehydrated cliffs
Seem wonderfully vapid; unmoved by scorching spewing rays,
Helplessly hopelessly sizzling.
High up, a scarlet sky eagerly hangs
Amidst a fracas between clouds.

A bottle brush oscillates.

The day ceases early and the twilight’s tardy.
Deranged moans are groaned by the heavy ashen grisly cloud
As he finally suffocates the last of the sunny rays;
There, where earth meets the sky, the ottoman begins a war.  
He growls and snarls and then he roars.

A skylark trills.

She sways in the wind
Chirring harshly
An alarming melodious jumble,
Eager to escape.

Like the fish shoaling deeper into the ocean.

The drone of lightning shakes the shore.
Like a foot that stamps the floor, as if it is his final say.
Drizzling drops of ocean rain then caress the rocky cheeks.

The rainfall season has begun.

Sundays, after beatings
He ignites the torrid grill
Browns the butter
Smacks and beats the eggs,
Ick! the shrill of boils in the scramble
Spattering at every turn
When he macerates those yolks;
Chunky bangers begin to scorch
And the tawny smoke that rises from the fry
Sheaths his face.
Greasy sweat drops begin to strain from his enlarged
and scowled pores;
A gooey film of grime and slime
Skims down and plunks into his fry,
Froth around the mouth
He slobbers more and primes his grub one final time.
He crams a pile on to his fork
Without inhaling he swallows and
He gobbles
His jowls are brimming
Will he choke?